Temporary Boss, Permanent Mistress

Until she’d overheard that conversation.

And realised that Robbie hadn’t hesitated even for a second before taking her father’s cheque.

He’d broken up with her later that evening—just as he’d promised her father he would. He’d looked her straight in the eye and told her he was sorry, but he’d fallen in love with someone else—and she knew damn well he hadn’t.

It had been a something, not a someone.

Money.

She dragged in a breath. That was then. This was now. But she hadn’t quite let herself trust anyone since. For the year and a half after Robbie, she’d taken refuge in her studies, working hard to make sure she graduated with first-class honours and had people falling over themselves to offer her a training contract. Sure, she’d dated a few men since she left university—if she hadn’t, she knew that her best friend, Emma, would have insisted on matchmaking—but she’d always kept things casual, never accepting more than half a dozen dates before saying gently that she thought they’d be better off as friends.

When was the last time she’d felt a pull of attraction like this? An urge to cup someone’s face between her hands and lower her mouth to his and kiss him until they were both breathless, regardless of the fact that they were in a public place?

She couldn’t remember.

But what she did know was that Jakob Anderson was definitely Mr Wrong. He was her boss. So there couldn’t be a future in this.

As for the fact that she was planning huge changes in her life, changes that meant he wouldn’t be her boss for much longer…Well, those changes also meant she wouldn’t have time for anything else in her life. So it was pointless starting anything.

She lifted her chin, pinned a smile to her face that she didn’t quite feel, and went over to sit beside him.

He acknowledged her with a nod and a brief waggle of his fingers, wrapped up his call, and turned to her. ‘Good morning, Lydia.’

‘Good morning.’

He glanced at his watch. ‘Thanks for being punctual.’ He smiled at her and she was suddenly glad she was sitting down as her knees actually went weak.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He scrutinised her boots. ‘Are they waterproof?’

‘They’re leather.’

‘And they’ll be ruined within a day.’ He flapped a dismissive hand. ‘Never mind, we’ll get you something at the airport when we land. At least your coat is suitable.’

‘And it’s definitely windproof.’

He tipped his head slightly to one side. ‘And you know that, how?’

‘My best friend nagged me into doing a sponsored walk coast to coast with her. Let’s just say the north of England can be a bit windy. And wet.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you sure that you really need a lawyer with you? You seem to be quite good at grilling people.’

He laughed. ‘Force of habit. I apologise. Do you want a coffee?’

‘Do I have time to get one before our flight?’

He surprised her by scooping up his papers and putting them in his briefcase. ‘Stay put and I’ll get them—what do you want?’

‘Latte, if they have it, please. Otherwise, just ordinary coffee with milk, no sugar. But, hang on, shouldn’t I be getting these?’

Jake stood up. ‘Why?’

‘Because you’re the head of the company, and technically I’m your junior.’

‘You’re my colleague,’ he corrected, ‘so we’ll take it in turns to fetch coffee.’ His tone brooked no argument. ‘Do you want anything to eat?’

‘Thanks for the offer, but no. I’m fine.’

She watched him walk away, his movements easy and graceful and incredibly sexy, and her fingers itched to sketch him.

To touch him.

Down, girl, she warned her libido silently. Wrong time, wrong place, wrong man.

He returned with coffee and gingerbread. ‘It was fresh out of the oven. I’m prepared to share, but I won’t argue if you refuse.’

‘Your weakness?’ she guessed.

‘Blame it on memories of Saturday mornings in my Norwegian grandmother’s kitchen.’ He grinned, suddenly looking younger, and her heart skipped a beat. Jakob Andersen in work mode was gorgeous enough. In play mode, he was breathtaking.

His fingers brushed against hers as he handed her the coffee, sending a shiver of desire down her spine. She hoped he hadn’t noticed; the last thing she needed now was complications.

One last job. That was what they’d agreed. And then she could resign and get on with the life she really wanted to lead.

‘Do you mind if I…?’ He fished his phone from his inside pocket.

‘Sure. I have stuff to be getting on with, too.’ Emails of her own to check on her BlackBerry.

‘Fine. Help yourself to gingerbread.’

She didn’t dare. Just in case she reached for the bag at the same time as him, and their fingers ended up tangling, and she ended up blurting out the crazy ideas in her head.

This really wasn’t on. For all she knew, Jake was already committed elsewhere, and the last thing they needed was an embarrassing situation just before they left the country to work together for a few days.

An insidious voice in her head reminded her that Jakob Andersen worked the kind of hours that few women would put up with, so he was probably single.

But she refused to listen. As far as she was concerned, he was off limits and staying that way.

Lydia had just about got herself under control by the time they checked in and boarded the plane. Jake was busy reading through paperwork; she knew she ought to do the same, but he’d given her the window seat and the pattern of clouds was irresistible. A glance told her that Jake was totally absorbed in what he was doing, so she took out the sketchpad and tin of pencils she always carried in her handbag, and began sketching. She worked swiftly, her pencil skimming the page.

And then she realised what she was sketching. Not the clouds: a picture in her mind’s eye.

Jake.

Flushing, she closed her sketchbook and stuffed it back into her handbag. Better to concentrate on her paperwork. She opened her file, and forced herself to focus on the words in front of her.

Jake was aware of the sudden flush on Lydia’s cheeks. What had happened to make her colour rise like that?

He was horribly aware that he’d like to see her skin bloom with colour in a completely different situation. One where her breathing would be ragged and her eyes would be wide with desire and her mouth would be parted and…

No.

Apart from the fact that he never dated anyone who worked for him—in his view, mixing work and relationships always ended in a mess—thoughts like these were completely inappropriate. For all he knew, Lydia was in a serious, committed relationship. There were no rings on her left hand, but that meant nothing.

Though he had heard Tim refer to her as the ice queen, as if she never dated.

The ice queen. Ha. More proof that the junior lawyer still had a lot of growing up to do. Just by looking at her, Jake could tell there was nothing icy about Lydia Sheridan. Her mouth had a sensual curve that would make any man want to reach over and touch.

Taste.

And right now he was beginning to wish that he’d brought Tim with him instead of Lydia. Because Lydia was the first woman who’d tempted him since Grace—and he wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to resist.

Two hours later, the plane landed and they disembarked. It was raining, and Lydia was glad of her coat as they hurried across to the terminal.

‘There’s a saying in Norway: God made the country so beautiful, he must wash it every day,’ Jake said, as if reading her mind. ‘Oslo’s beautiful at night, when all the lights reflect on the wet ground.’

She could imagine it. ‘I was expecting it to be darker than this.’

‘The polar nights, you mean?’ He shook his head. ‘We’re in the south of the country, so at this time of year there are six hours of sunlight—it’s not that much different from London. Dusk and dawn are a bit longer, maybe. Further north it’s twilight, but it’s still light enough to read by at midday.’

‘Takk,’ she said.

He looked at her in surprise. ‘I thought you said you didn’t speak Norwegian?’

‘I learned a couple of phrases last night. To be polite.’

He gave her an approving smile. ‘Good thinking. That’ll go down well at Pedersen’s. And if you want me to teach you…’

She completely missed the rest of his sentence. Because for a moment she could imagine him teaching her something, and rewarding her with a kiss. That beautiful, beautiful mouth lowering towards hers, teasing her and tasting her and arousing her until…

‘Lydia?’

‘Sorry. I was distracted by the scenery,’ she said. It wasn’t a total fib. Just that the pictures happened to be in her head, not outside. ‘You were saying?’

‘You’re happy with the agenda?’

‘It’s fine. No questions.’

‘Good. Oh, and keep a note of any calls you make to England from here. Andersen’s will reimburse you.’

‘Why would I call England?’ she asked, mystified.

‘Your family. To let them know you’ve arrived safely,’ he suggested.

It hadn’t occurred to her. She hadn’t even told her parents that she’d be out of the country; the gulf between them had widened over the years so that she spoke to them maybe once a fortnight, and saw them even less.

Though she had told her godmother and her best friend that she’d be away. She’d promised to send postcards and take lots of photographs, especially of the Northern Lights.

‘I’ll call them later,’ she prevaricated, not wanting to admit how difficult things were between her and her parents. ‘My father will be in court at this time of day, and my mother will be in a briefing meeting.’ And even if they weren’t, they’d be too busy to talk to her.

‘Then, if you’ll excuse me?’ he asked.

Jake was calling his parents?

Now that she hadn’t expected.

He tapped a button on his phone. ‘Mum? Yes, it’s Jake. We’re at Oslo Airport, safe and sound, so you can stop worrying now.’ He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corner. ‘OK. Since Dad’s on the golf course, you can tell him for me. I’ll call you tonight.’ His smile broadened. ‘I love you, too.’

When had she last said, ‘I love you,’ to her parents?

Then again, when had they last said it to her?

Jake’s ease with his family unsettled Lydia. Particularly when his next call was conducted in Norwegian—and he had the same sweet, loving smile on his face when he said, ‘Jeg er glad i deg.’ She didn’t need a translation. This was obviously the Norwegian side of his family, and he was close to them, too.

He glanced at his watch as he put his phone away. ‘Our meeting’s at three, Norwegian time,’ he said. ‘Which means we have an hour and a half. It’s going to be quickest for us to buy your boots here, then catch the shuttle train to the hotel—it’ll take twice as long to get there by taxi. We’ll have just about enough time to check in and unpack before we go to the office.’

‘I don’t need boots. These are fine,’ Lydia protested.

He raised an eyebrow. ‘You’ve been to Norway before?’

‘No,’ she admitted.

‘Then perhaps you’ll agree that I’m in a better position to judge. You do have shoes to change into, in the office?’ he checked.

‘Yes.’

‘Good. That makes it easier.’ Once they’d collected their luggage and gone through passport control, Jake ushered her over to the shopping area, asked her shoe size, then spoke in rapid Norwegian. With brisk efficiency, the assistant brought her three different styles of boots, and when she’d chosen the ones that fitted best her own boots were wrapped up and Jake had paid before she could stop him.

‘I’m quite capable of paying for my own boots,’ she said as they left the shop.

‘I know, but it’s quicker this way. We’ll sort it out later,’ he said.

The train took about twenty minutes and their hotel was only a couple of minutes’ walk away from the station. ‘Wow,’ she said at her first glimpse of the sheer glass tower, silver against the grey sky. ‘That’s gorgeous.’

‘It looks even better when the sky’s blue,’ he said. ‘I had Ingrid book rooms for us on the thirtieth floor. The views are fantastic.’

He’d understated it, she thought when she unlocked her room and saw the fjord spreading out below. Instead of unpacking, she spent her time just drinking in the view. This was definitely something she’d sketch, later.

She heard a knock at the door, and glanced at her watch. They needed to be going. Quickly, she slipped her shoes into her briefcase, gathered up her coat and handbag and opened the door. ‘Sorry. I was admiring the view.’

‘Hopefully we’ll have time for me to show you a bit of the city in the evenings. If it dries up,’ he said with a smile. ‘It’s not far to Nils’s office, but it’s bucketing down outside so I’ve booked us a taxi.’

Nils Pedersen’s office was in Aker Brygge Wharf. ‘It used to be a shipyard,’ Jake explained on the way there, ‘but it’s been developed as a business and tourist centre. It’s really pretty in the summer. My grandfather says that when he was a boy, in the winter the fjord would freeze and they’d make roads with sledges on the ice, and as spring came they’d cut channels in the ice. Of course, winters are milder now.’

‘You really love Norway, don’t you?’ she asked.

‘Of course. It’s my home, where my father’s family live.’ He smiled. ‘I guess I’m greedy, because England’s home, too. My mother’s English.’

At the office, they were shown into a conference room; Jake introduced Lydia to the people who were already sitting at the table.

‘God ettermiddag,’ she said, and her effort was rewarded with a beaming smile from everyone who shook her hand.

She wasn’t surprised that the meeting was brisk and efficient, cutting through the personal niceties and sticking strictly to business—she could definitely see where Jake got that from. But when the meeting ended at four-thirty, she raised an eyebrow.

‘Normal office hours in Norway are eight till four,’ he explained as they left. ‘Pedersen’s have already accommodated us by working later tonight. And dinner’s early in Norway, too—we eat at six rather than eight. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve accepted Nils’s invitation to dine with him and his family tonight.’

‘No worries. I wasn’t expecting you to look after me every minute of the day. I’ll order something from room service.’

‘That isn’t what I meant. The invitation’s for both of us,’ he said gently. ‘I wouldn’t be selfish enough to abandon you in a country you’d never been to before.’

‘Oh.’ She flushed. ‘Well, just let me know the dress code. And any points of etiquette that aren’t the same as in England.’

‘Smart casual, nothing too glittery. All you need to remember is that we won’t talk business tonight—in Norway, we keep business and home separate. Oh, and take your shoes off at the door. Otherwise, just be yourself.’ He smiled. ‘Nils was impressed that you’d taken the trouble to learn some Norwegian—especially when I told him I’d only drafted you in yesterday. Elisabet—his wife—speaks English, so there will be no problem tonight.’

They went back to the hotel via the main shopping street, where Jake chose a good bottle of white wine and some bright pink gerberas.

‘Do Nils and Elisabet have children?’ she asked.

‘Yes, a boy and a girl. They’re both at nursery.’

‘We should take them something, too. Could I buy them some art stuff?’

Jake looked surprised for a moment, then nodded. ‘Better than taking them sweets. If you think they’ll like them, that is.’

‘My best friend’s a primary school teacher. According to her, all kids love art stuff.’

‘I wouldn’t know.’

Jake’s face was completely unreadable, but Lydia had the distinct feeling that she’d just trampled over a sore spot. And it was pretty fair to assume now that Jake was definitely single with no kids. Or maybe that was it: he was divorced, and his ex had made access to his children impossible—maybe by moving away.

Not that it was any of her business.

But she made a mental note to be tactful in future.

Jake took her to a toyshop and let her choose various craft gifts, which she insisted on paying for. ‘I’m a guest, too, and, as you’ve already bought wine and flowers, I’m buying these. No arguments.’

He inclined his head and allowed her to pay.

Back at the hotel, Lydia had enough time to shower and change into a simple black dress and low-heeled court shoes before the taxi arrived.

‘You look nice,’ Jake said approvingly when she opened the door to him.

‘Thank you. So do you.’ Though that was an understatement. His blue shirt really brought out the colour of his eyes. He’d clearly just shaved, too, and for a mad moment she found her hand lifting to touch his face, feel how soft his skin was.

She just about managed to stop herself, and was glad she had when he said coolly, ‘The taxi should be waiting for us downstairs.’

They arrived at the Pedersens’ at two minutes to six, and Nils welcomed them warmly, introducing them to his wife Elisabet. The two children peeped shyly from behind Elisabet’s skirts.

Jake crouched down to their level and held out his hand, speaking gently in Norwegian, and the little boy shook his hand solemnly, followed by his little sister.

Lydia followed his lead. ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Beklager, I don’t speak much Norwegian. I’m English.’

Elisabet translated rapidly for the children, then smiled at Lydia. ‘This is Morten.’

‘Hello,’ the little boy said, and shook her hand.

‘And this is Kristin.’

‘Hello,’ the little girl said shyly, copying her brother. Jake straightened up. ‘Thank you for inviting us over. It’s very kind of you,’ he said, handing the flowers to Elisabet and the wine to Nils.

‘And we thought the children might like these,’ Lydia said, indicating the bag she was carrying, ‘but if I give them to you, Mrs Pedersen, you can let the children have them at a better time. It’s pencils and stickers and paper, that sort of thing.’

‘Call me Elisabet. And tusen takk for the gift—thank you so much. How lovely. They adore drawing,’ Elisabet said with a smile. ‘They’re off to bed soon, but they’d enjoy making a picture now, if you’d like to give them the presents yourself?’

Lydia glanced at Jake, who nodded and said something swiftly in the children’s own language.

Shyly, Morten accepted the bag; and although Lydia couldn’t understand more than takk from the little boy’s excited babble, she could see the pleasure on both children’s faces.

‘Come through. I will get you a drink,’ Nils said.

‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ Lydia asked.

‘You can join me in the kitchen, if you like.’ Elisabet scooped up her daughter. ‘Where I can finish preparing dinner and keep an eye on these two.’

‘You can probably get Lydia to draw them something,’ Jake said. ‘She’s good at art.’

Lydia’s heart skipped a beat. How did he know? Had he seen her sketching on the plane? She only hoped that he’d seen her sketches of the clouds, not the portrait she’d drawn of him. A quick glance at his face left her none the wiser; his expression was completely unreadable.

‘Come through,’ Elisabet said, leading the way to the kitchen. She helped Kristin onto a stool by the breakfast bar and watched as Morten climbed up next to her; within seconds, the children had the pencils and paper spread across the work surface and were busy drawing patterns.

‘Takk for translating for me,’ Lydia said. ‘I’m sorry, I only knew I was coming to Norway yesterday afternoon. I haven’t had time to learn more than please, thank you and hello.’

‘It’s good that you’ve learned that much,’ Elisabet said. ‘Though most Norwegians speak English.’

‘Are those the children’s drawings from school?’ She gestured to the pictures held on the fridge with magnets. ‘They’re very good.’

‘Thank you. And Jake said you’re good at art?’

‘I sketch a bit,’ Lydia said diffidently. ‘Maybe I could teach the children to draw something? A cat for Morten and a butterfly for Kristin to colour, maybe?’

‘That would be lovely.’ Elisabet translated rapidly for the children, who beamed. ‘I think that’s a yes,’ she said with a smile.

‘Shouldn’t I help you with something, first?’ Lydia asked.

‘You already are. You’re keeping the children happy,’ Elisabet said.

Lydia took a piece of paper, then drew the outline of a butterfly for Kristin. She picked up a pink pencil and drew a simple curved shape inside the outline, colouring it in, then offered the pencil to the little girl. Kristin took it shyly, and drew a shape herself; once Lydia was sure that the little girl was happy, she showed Morten how to draw a simple outline of a cat. The little boy copied it haltingly.

‘Very good,’ she said, clapping.

He beamed at her, and drew a second cat, this time with more confidence, then a third; he called out to his mother, who came to inspect it and praised him.

‘I envy you. I’m not so good at art—I can barely draw a straight line with a ruler,’ Elisabet confessed. ‘I hate it if they sign me up to do arty things for Julemessa—the nursery fundraising Christmas fair.’

‘But you,’ Lydia said, gesturing to the beautiful ring cake filled with fruit and cream that stood on the worktop, ‘can make wonderful cakes. Which I can’t. They go flat as a pancake—so I cheat and buy them at the baker’s.’

‘Just like I cheat and make Nils do the painting,’ Elisabet confided with a smile.

‘Would you like me to sketch the children for you?’ Lydia asked.

‘Very much,’ Elisabet said.

Lydia needed no second invitation. She took her pencils and sketchbook from her handbag, and began to draw.

Jake had followed Nils into the kitchen from the door at the other end of the room, and stood there in silence, watching Lydia as she sketched; she looked completely at home, chatting to Elisabet and stopping what she was doing every so often to help one of the children.

He could imagine her like that with children of her own, kind and patient and supportive, and the hollow in his stomach filled with bile. Yet another reason why he had no right to start any kind of relationship with Lydia: children were absolutely not on his agenda, not any more.

And how hard it was, to smile and be polite and pretend that everything was just fine. Still, he ought to be used to it, by now. He’d managed it before. He’d manage it tonight. He forced himself to walk casually over towards Lydia and glanced over her shoulder.

He’d thought her cloud pictures on the plane were good, but these were fabulous. With a few deft strokes of her pencil, she’d really captured both children: Kristin, concentrating on her butterfly, and Morten’s expression as it changed from effort to triumph as he realised he’d managed to draw a cat just the way she’d taught him.

‘You’re very talented.’

‘Thank you.’

Though Jake noticed that she kept a tight hold of her sketchbook as she removed the pages with the sketches of the children, then stuffed it back in her handbag without offering to let anyone look through it. So she was as unconfident about her talent as she was about her work as a lawyer? Someone must really have done a number on her, in the past.

Nils and Elisabet were both delighted with the sketches. Nils took the children up to bed and read them a story, while Elisabeth ushered them into the dining room and brought the first course in.

Dinner was fine: good food and good conversation, with Nils and Elisabet suggesting places in Oslo that Lydia really ought to see before she returned to England. The opera house, a night-time walk along the Akerselva river, the sculptures in Vigeland park and the Viking ships in the museum.

Lydia seemed to blossom in their company, opening up about her favourite places to sketch in London. And Jake realised just how pretty she was: her dark eyes sparkled, her face was animated, and the candlelight brought out the copper and gold lights in her hair.